


Damage

by literaryspell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Child Death, M/M, issues of consent, rape-play, spousal abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-24
Updated: 2011-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-23 04:45:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryspell/pseuds/literaryspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry rises. Draco watches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damage

**Author's Note:**

> Major love to my betas and readers, [](http://keppiehed.livejournal.com/profile)[**keppiehed**](http://keppiehed.livejournal.com/) and [](http://seatbeltdrivein.livejournal.com/profile)[**seatbeltdrivein**](http://seatbeltdrivein.livejournal.com/).

It started, as these things do, with the best of intentions.

 **schism.**  
"Hermione, it's not about pointing out the differences between people. We're not focusing on any one thing. It's just to… keep track of everyone."

"Of everyone's abilities," she countered. Her hands were flat on the table, nails painted in a sensible clear coat.

"Yes," Harry said. "We need to know what people can do in order to protect ourselves."

"You're turning the wizarding populace into suspects! Guilty before they've had a chance to defend themselves."

"Guilty before they even learn to talk," Ron added, his first contribution to the conversation since he'd followed Hermione through Harry's Floo.

Harry pressed his fingers beneath his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. He had a headache, and all he wanted was to get back to bed where Draco was waiting. "Think of it like a birth certificate, okay? Normally, they list things like name, sex, age. Well, the Register is just a little more in-depth. Hermione, after Voldemort, how can you say these measures aren’t necessary?"

"Because he's gone." Her eyes met his and Harry could tell she was earnest, but he was equally so.

" _He_ is, yes. But there are those who would follow the same path—or create their own. There are too many potential threats out there to just bury our heads in the sand about this."

"You're talking about destroying privacy, equality. You're talking about casting a spell on _infants._ A spell whose lasting effects could be dangerous."

Harry almost rolled his eyes but stopped when he saw how serious both she and Ron were. "It isn't going to be dangerous. We've done more than enough testing; the spell was approved by Unspeakables." He leaned forward in his chair. "It's just a way of narrowing down suspects, of making sure we have all the pertinent information!"

"You know," Hermione began, "if the Wizengamot had known Sirius was an Animagus, they would have made sure he couldn’t make the change. He wouldn't have been able to avoid the Dementors in Azkaban. Sometimes… sometimes these things need to be kept secret!"

"Maybe it would have been better if he'd died there," Harry said, looking away.

"Harry!" Hermione gasped.

"I just mean… then I wouldn’t have lost him. Not really."

"And what about Lupin?" Ron asked. "If it'd been public knowledge that he was a werewolf, he'd never have got the job at Hogwarts. And you always said he was your favourite teacher!"

"He was." Harry groaned. "You guys aren’t getting the big picture! If we _know_ who people are, we know how to treat them, how to take care of them."

"How to defeat them."

"Yes, Hermione. If this spell happens to catch a Parselmouth, for example, then we can take the necessary precautions to make sure the child doesn’t turn into a Dark Lord. Stop looking at the negative aspects. Can't you see how much this will benefit the entire Wizarding world?"

"But _you're_ a Parselmouth, Harry…" Ron looked like he wished he hadn't said it, but there it was, on the table between them. Lately, there was just so much between them.

Harry laughed past the twinge in his gut. "Yeah, and I'll have the Register spell inside me, as well. So if I start acting like a Dark Lord, be sure to let me know."

Hermione and Ron exchanged a glance, but Harry's attention was focused on the stairs that would lead him back to Draco.

  
 **squeeze.**  
Draco clenched his jaw, determined not to make a noise—Harry was just as determined, he knew, to get a sound from him.

"Did you miss me?" Harry said, mouthing the reddened skin on Draco's neck to speak. He licked the throbbing bite, and it did nothing to ease the sting.

"I can entertain myself."

"So I've seen." Harry took Draco's wrists, the hold so gentle that Draco knew it was a trap. There was a time, a different time but maybe not a better time, when Harry would have kept his grip light. His thumb would soothe over the pulse point in Draco's wrist, and his fingers would thread between Draco's. There was a time when Harry didn’t make everything into something else.

Draco winced when Harry's hands tightened.

"I love the sound your bones make when they grind together like that." To prove his point, Harry increased the pressure, and Draco's knees went weak—he would have fallen to the floor if Harry's thigh hadn't been wedged between his legs.

"It's okay," Harry said, easing the bruising grip and skimming his hands up Draco's arms to his neck. "You're okay, right?"

Draco scoffed, a little breathless. "Of course." He glanced at Harry's face and saw that he was in better spirits than he had been when he'd stormed into their flat. "Bad day at the Ministry?"

Harry's face darkened once more. "I don't want to talk about it."

  
 **change.**  
"I'm just so fucking sick of it!" Harry glared at Kingsley, unable to stop even though he knew he wasn’t acting like himself. In the corner of the room, Draco nodded at him, silent encouragement, or permission, or something. With Draco, it was always something.

Kingsley's eyes had lost their lustre. The way he looked at Harry belied his fear, and Harry hated that. No one had anything to fear from _him_ —it was the people who were breaking the law and not getting their Registration Spells that were the real threat.

"What would you have me do, Harry? I can't very well force people to have it done."

"Of course you can. You're the bloody Minister—who else has that power?"

Kingsley sighed and looked at Harry pointedly.

"You want me to do it?" Harry frowned, surprised that Kingsley was giving him implicit permission.

"What would you do, if you were Minister? The Registry is a good thing, I know that. But people are scared, Harry. The spell identifies blood status, and I'll admit that worries me as well."

Exasperated, Harry looked to Draco. This time, his lover had no gesture, no facial moue to centre him. After a moment of Harry's relentless stare, Draco spoke.

"The blood status portion merely indicates whether one parent, both, or neither are Wizarding born. It's especially helpful in hospitals—Muggle-borns and those with regular contact with the Muggle world are more susceptible to Muggle illnesses. It's simply a way of easing the strain on St. Mungo's already overburdened staff."

"But that information, in the wrong hands—"

"Kingsley. A wand in the wrong hands will kill people. In the right hands, it can cure. We're talking about what's best for the greatest number of people. Only those with something to hide would refuse to get the spell."

Kingsley was quiet for a long time.

Then, "Do it."

 **burn.**  
"Might make you feel better to talk to me," Draco said.

"Don't break character, Draco. I know you don't really care."

Draco laughed and rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't be with you if I didn’t care just a little."

Harry looked at him for a long time, and Draco started to second-guess himself. He did care—didn’t he? He did, he did.

"I can _see_ you convincing yourself," Harry snarled. He punched the wall beside Draco's head, but Draco didn’t flinch. "Goddamn you! Why can't you ever be sincere?"

"When I am, you accuse me of lying!"

"Because you're always lying."

"Fuck you, Potter—"

Harry's open palm burst across Draco's cheek, snapping his head to the side. Then Harry was on him in an instant, holding his reddened face with two hands, kissing him, hard and soft. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Just… I can't hear you call me that. That's all I ever hear, all day. From you, I need my name. Please, Draco. Please."

"Harry. _Harry._ " Draco submitted to the kisses for as long as he could. "I told you that you wouldn’t ever hit me again."

A sob tore out of Harry's throat, a sound like a dying animal. He sank to his knees and leaned forward, curled into a ball. "You can't leave me. God, Draco, I fucking love you. Can't you see that? Can't you see how much, how bad it hurts?"

"It isn't supposed to hurt _this_ much," Draco whispered, holding a hand to his heated cheek. Then he closed his eyes—and Harry was in his arms before he knew he'd sat on the floor.

"Let me heal it." Harry's face lifted. His eyes were red and puffy, wet.

Draco nodded. Harry's fingers touched him, and he flinched—not because it hurt him, but because he wanted Harry to hurt. Harry swallowed hard, and Draco knew it had worked. Then the warmth, the drug of Harry's magic was sliding over his skin, into his open mouth, inside his body.

"Thank you," Draco said. He flexed his jaw; all tightness was gone. Harry's magic pulsed through him like violence.

"I love you," said Harry.

 **howl.**  
"Headmistress McGonagall, the werewolves know the rules. Anyone caught flagrantly breaking those rules must face the consequences."

"But, Potter… _children_?"

"Responsibility has to start somewhere."

"You would blame an eleven-year-old for wanting to be home with his family during his transformation?"

"No. Nor would I _blame_ him if the wards over his bedroom weakened enough for him to escape and kill his entire family." The boy sitting in a plastic chair before Harry's desk whimpered. Draco's hand rested on Harry's shoulder. "But he would," Harry continued. "And so would the rest of the wizarding world." He rose from his chair, missing Draco's hand when it slipped away. "You all think I do this out of bigotry. I can't see how—my own mentor was a werewolf, as you well know."

"And he would be appalled," Minerva said, her lips so tight they were white over her teeth.

"I disagree. Lupin would have _wanted_ a place where he could spend the full moon without fear, without the horrible knowledge that he could, at any moment, hurt someone. Kill someone."

"With the Wolfsbane—"

"The Wolfsbane isn’t infallible, Minerva. When the brewers of Wolfsbane volunteer to spend the night in the company of one of their drugged subjects, then I will relax the rules. Until then, everyone is to be treated equally—for the safety of the masses."

"What's going to happen to me?" the boy said in a quiet but resigned voice. He lifted his head, his dark blue eyes determined.

Harry nodded his approval of the boy's acceptance of his fate. "You'll spend the next three full moons in solitary confinement at the compound. You'll hear the other wolves, but you won't be able to see them or run with them."

"That inhumane treatment could very well cause a werewolf to lose all semblance of humanity," Minerva protested. "He might never be accepted back into the pack."

Though Harry couldn’t see Draco behind him, he could sense him.

"Then he will surely think twice before trying to remain at home during his transformation again, won't he?"

 **want.**  
"Say it," Harry grunted from above Draco.

The hardwood floor was unforgiving beneath his back. The knobs of his spine protested, but it didn’t stop Draco from arching.

Draco shook his head. Harry's eyes were feverishly bright, eerie and not because of the colour but because of the content.

"Fucking say it, Draco. Say no. Tell me no, just this once. And your voice better crack and your lip better fucking quiver, or I won't believe you."

Turning his head to the side, Draco noticed the wainscoting was stained at the bottom, a water mark that would only get worse. He made a mental note to deal with it later.

"Draco!"

"Harry, you can't rape me. I want you too much." Draco's stomach clenched at his words. Again, he had to wonder if it was true. Could Harry ever make Draco hate him enough that what they did together was against Draco's will?

He didn’t know.

"It doesn’t have to be real. Please. I just want to know what it feels like."

Shit. Another water stain. Was there a leak?

Harry's hand clamped around Draco's jaw, wrenching his face to look up. Harry… everyone knew the truth about Harry _but_ Harry. He was like the Imperius—no one could resist him.

"No," Draco said, his voice flat. "Don't touch me."

Harry's smile was out of place. He leaned in and fucked Draco's lips with his mouth, a brutal kiss that left the metallic taste of blood on his teeth.

"More."

Draco closed his eyes. Harry's body was pressed against his, solid and effective.

"No, Harry. Stop." Draco drew in a shuddering breath. "Stop! Don't fucking touch me. Leave me alone!" He began to struggle and knew it was the right thing to do when Harry's hips came down hard against his; Harry's erection was unmistakable. Draco bucked his hips, trying to unseat Harry, but he wouldn’t be moved.

Harry grabbed Draco's arms and lifted them above his head, pinning them with one hand. Draco knew real fear when he realized Harry's hold wasn’t for show.

"Harry!" Draco shouted before the other hand came over his mouth.

"I don't want to hear any more." Harry held Draco's eyes until Draco nodded.

Then Harry got to his feet and yanked Draco up after him, rough enough that a pain in Draco's shoulder made him shout. Harry ignored or maybe didn’t hear the sound. He hauled Draco up the stairs, pulling him through an ungraceful stumble, before finally throwing him on the bed.

"I could make you hate it," said Harry. "I could make you suffer."

 **break.**  
"Weasley is here to see you, _Minister_ ," Draco said, biting his lip and looking at Harry through his lashes.

Harry chuckled at Draco's antics. "Let him in."

Draco pouted, but the look disappeared when he opened the door.

"This is private, Malfoy," Ron said as soon as he entered.

"This is my office," Harry said, "and I'll decide who remains in it."

Ron looked pained. "Harry, this is about Hermione."

Harry tapped his wand as he looked between Ron and Draco. Finally, he nodded. "Draco, give us a few minutes."

With a level glare at Ron and a look to Harry that suggested he'd suffer for his slight, Draco left the office.

"What's going on, Ron?"

"They _arrested_ my wife—that's what's going on!"

Harry was surprised. "Who did? Why?"

"Your men. I don't know their names. One of them I recognized from your Christmas party last year."

 _Banting_ , Harry guessed. A stern man with a mind for facts and not emotion; his ability to remain detached was part of why Harry kept him as an advisor. "What did she do?"

Ron's mouth fell open. "Why would you assume she did something?"

"Well, people don't get arrested for no reason."

"In Harry Potter's police state, they do!"

"Oh, Hermione's been going on about that again, has she?" Harry smiled fondly.

"They came right into our house without so much as a 'by your leave' and took her. They threatened me when I tried to stop them!"

"Well, you shouldn’t interfere in the affairs of Aurors, Ron. They're just doing their jobs."

"And it's _my_ job to protect my family. To protect my wife!"

"Ron." Harry's tone dropped and Ron's teeth snapped shut. "What did she do?"

"It was… something about the spell. About the Register."

"Why would Hermione tamper with her Register?"

"She said it was _burning_ her! That she could feel it all the time."

"I haven’t had any other reports of that."

Ron scoffed. "Do you think people would tell you? You're hardly sympathetic these days, in case you hadn't noticed."

"And I'm not in a position to be so now. I feel for you, Ron. If Draco were arrested, I'd be beside myself. But Draco would never tamper with the Register. He knows better."

"Fuck Draco!"

"Watch yourself, Ron. We might be friends, but I won't take you badmouthing Draco."

"Are you going to do something about Hermione?"

Harry hesitated. "I can't. I can't show her more leniency than I would a stranger, you know that. I have to remain impartial."

"You say we're friends… but you're going to watch her get sent to Azkaban? The Register doesn’t even _work_ , Harry! Are you blind? It's just tearing everyone apart. After the war, we were all the same, we were in this together. Your fucking Register's just making everyone realize how different they are. That shit starts wars, Harry—hell, we just barely lived through one!"

"How dare you liken me to Voldemort?" Harry snapped. "You know how hard I've worked to make our world safer!"

"How dare _you_ stand idly by while one of your best friends gets taken away?"

Harry tugged on the collar of his robes and wished Draco was there. "She's not going to Azkaban, for god's sakes. The punishment for refusing to take the spell or attempting to remove or alter it is three months hard labour."

"Harry, she's pregnant," Ron whispered. His freckles stood out on his face, and his hands twisted together in his lap. He didn’t look at Harry.

"I'm sorry," said Harry.

 **fuse.**  
"Do it," Draco said, following his brave words with a gasp. "Make me suffer."

Harry's eyes narrowed like he was trying to figure out whether Draco meant it or if it was just another taunt. Without breaking eye contact, Harry gathered the hem of Draco's robes and tugged them up. He pulled them over Draco's head and while Draco was trapped, Harry grasped Draco's sore shoulder and flipped him onto his stomach.

Draco pulled the robes off the rest of the way, trying not to exacerbate his aching shoulder. Harry was on the bed with him, kneeling between his parted legs. He dragged his nails down Draco's back, and Draco writhed, into and away from the burn.

Harry pulled down Draco's pants and grabbed an arsecheek, pulling him open. Draco flushed when Harry spat on his hole—and then again.

"Can't wait," Harry said. Draco could hear him lifting his robes, freeing himself.

Draco's head whipped around when he felt Harry's cock nudge against his rim. "Wait, don't—"

Harry groaned and jerked his hips forward. The head of his cock pierced Draco and if they hadn't just fucked that morning, Draco might have recoiled in pain. As it was, Harry was hurting him, but it wasn’t unbearable.

"Take it, baby." Harry pressed forward, inching his way inside. Draco felt like his organs were rearranging themselves for Harry. "I know you can take it, only you can."

"Hard." Draco tried to move his arse back, tried to move at all, but Harry held him down. "Harder."

Then Harry pulled Draco's hips up and held him still as he fucked him, long, slow thrusts that stroked against Draco's prostate, making him shiver.

"Show me the mark," Harry demanded, his voice gruff.

Draco knew he didn’t mean the skull and snake on his left arm. His right arm, his wand arm, he held out for Harry to see. Where the Registration spell had penetrated his skin there was a scar. From the scar there were black lines like poison, like a spider web, growing worse with the years.

"This is mine." Harry's hand closer over the grotesque wound and squeezed. "You belong to me."

"Yes," Draco said, closing his eyes. Harry reached around his waist to stroke his cock, hard and fast to match his thrusts. "Yes, yes."

Draco came with a wail, always regretting his climaxes because it meant he lost Harry, just for a while, just in a small way. Until the next time.

Harry used him roughly, striving for his own orgasm. Draco clenched his arse around Harry's dick, wanting his come inside him, staining him. Black lines.

Finally Harry came, ugly sounds escaping him as he used Draco's body to catch his seed. He pulled out and kneaded Draco's arse, making his hole clench and wink until come leaked out, down over Draco's balls. Harry patted his bum, obviously pleased.

"Sorry, Draco," he said after his breathing returned to normal a few minutes later. "You were right—just a bad day at work."

"You can talk to me." Draco turned and rested his head on Harry's chest. "If you need to."

"I know," said Harry.

 **blur.**  
"There's no other way?" Harry asked his chief advisor, a rough older man called Banting.

"It is the only… _condition_ that doesn’t show up on the Registry, Minister. I don't think he is consciously blocking it, but… we just don't know."

"And the procedure… is it painless?"

Banting hesitated. "It is not comfortable. But it doesn’t take long."

"Leave the potion. I'll administer it myself."

Banting let himself out. Harry eyed the potion. On the hard plastic chair before the desk sat his godson.

"You understand why this is necessary, don't you, Teddy?"

Teddy nodded. He looked frightened.

"They've tested this on many Metamorphmagi. It's not so bad, I promise."

"Uncle Harry, I really don't mean to break the law, I don't know why it won't show up on the Registry, I just—"

"I know, baby." Harry knelt down beside Teddy and stroked the soft skin of his arm. "It's not your fault."

Teddy nodded again and Harry held him close. After a long moment, Harry handed him the potion.

Like the big boy he was, Teddy uncapped it and with one last long look at Harry, tipped it back. The convulsions began immediately.

Then, Teddy was still.

Harry brushed the brown hair from Teddy's eyes before standing. He had to get home. He needed Draco.

  
 _The end._   



End file.
